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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014822">Chef's Choice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfandomqueen/pseuds/superfandomqueen'>superfandomqueen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Boys (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxious Hughie Campbell, Bisexual Hughie Campbell, Depressed Hughie Campbell, Episode Tag: s01e05 Good For The Soul, Frenchie Is A Great Chef, Hughie Accidentally Shares Too Much And Regrets, Hughie Can't Cook, Hughie Has PTSD, Hughie Has Self-Esteem Issues, Hughie Has a Complicated Relationship With His Dad, Implied/Referenced Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Kimiko is in the Background, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queer Hughie Campbell, She is There, angst with happy ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:13:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfandomqueen/pseuds/superfandomqueen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hughie never really thought about what else the boys could do besides what he has seen. Seeing Frenchie cooking takes him by surprise.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hughie Campbell &amp; The Frenchman, Hughie Campbell/The Frenchman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Chef's Choice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have an enabler and a love for this ship that motivated me to write this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hughie dropped his bag of clothes he picked up his dad’s apartment those few weeks ago onto one of the beds in the room. He would move it if whoever was sharing the room with him wanted that bed more, but it’ll work for now. Rolling his shoulders, Hughie sat on the bed and opened his phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was a nicer safehouse than the last one, but it wasn’t grand or anything. It had the bare necessities and plain concrete walls. Hughie wouldn’t want to spend the winter here, not with the slight chill that seemed to hang in the air. Not unless the heating system was warmed up for winter to chase away that chill.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He briefly stared at his phone before pressing the off button. Hughie turned it over in his hands, thinking of what to do. For once, he didn’t feel like watching Billy Joel, James Taylor, or Simon and Garfunkel music videos with the volume all the way up. His head felt too full to sit and numb out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Hughie got to his feet and tucked away his phone. He mapped the layout of the safehouse and the different rooms. For the way it looked on the outside, it definitely didn’t appear to be that big on bedrooms. The bedrooms were big enough for two beds and some space between them. There was more room in the run together of a living room and kitchen, even a table. There was a section behind the couch that had its own table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Said table was already taken over by MM, who was pouring over files and occasionally typing something into his laptop. Hughie didn’t stop, he didn’t want to bother MM. The big man was clearly absorbed into what he was doing. Hughie knew he wouldn’t want to be bothered once he got focused onto something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, Hughie could almost see himself with Robin and Anthony sitting at the same kind of rectangle table studying. Hughie could vividly remember him kicking both of them in the shin at some point and time while he was writing down notes from that day’s readings. Robin and Anthony sniggering, making low comments. Comments that Hughie would usually break and ask what they were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been weeks since he had seen Anthony. Guilt knawed in his stomach, he hadn’t talked to Anthony since the funeral. Since the funeral Hughie had barely been functioning at. Hughie patted his phone in his back pocket, debating on calling his best friend but then shook himself. Anthony was never someone he could keep a secret from, the last thing he wanted Anthony mixed up in what this shit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hughie looked for Frenchie, he could distract from him from doing something stupid like calling Anthony. The woman that had more or less joined them terrified Hughie. The only time she wasn’t completely terrifying was when she was with Frenchie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catching sight of Frenchie’s back, Hughie headed for them, ignoring the anxiety of being near the woman. Hughie couldn’t help but stare at the ease Frenchie had as he moved through the kitchen. “You cook?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frenchie and the Female, as Butcher had dubbed her, looked up as he spoke. Hughie felt his stomach twist up in knots at the attention. “Yes.” A look flashed across Frenchie’s face faster then Hughie could read it. “What do you think I only know how to kill?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hughie shrugged. “Sort of? I guess I never really thought about it.” He really hadn’t, with everything happening he never really thought about what Frenchie or MM, definitely not Butcher, did in their free time. “What are you making?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hughie just stared blankly as Frenchie said a name of some food that he had never heard of in his life. Frenchie moved over, clucking his tongue and instructed the Female on how to do something with… that might’ve been dough of some kind. Hughie had no idea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea what you just said, but it smells great,” Hughie said, whatever it was it really did smell good. He never smelled anything that good. Even good leftovers didn’t smell that good when you reheated it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frenchie looked up at his comment, watching Hughie as he easily, quickly chopped a carrot. It was rather nerve-wracking, Hughie wanted to tell him to watch the knife not him. “Do you know how to cook?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hughie leaned against the doorjamb, trying to give the two dangerous cooks space and not get in the way. Giving a one shoulder shrug, his hands shoved in his front pocket. “If you count cooking as in making hotdogs and ramen in a coffee pot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frenchie’s hand stopped, a clear horrified look on his face. The Female stopped as well, staring at Hughie with an odd look. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know how to broke college kid food and that’s about it.” Hughie a small chuckle. “My dad is no better at it then me. Microwave dinners are very handy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a choking noise from Frenchie. “You grew up on that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hughie felt something like fondness in his chest, the only other people that had been as offended on such a shit selection of food for survival had been Missus Naber, Robin, and Anthony. Hughie had never mentioned it to anyone really. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, there was a neighbor down the hall who took pity on us and would make extra, despite her claims she started making more after my mom left, and give us the leftovers. I hated it when there weren't any leftovers. No leftovers always meant microwave dinners and pizza rolls,” Hughie explained, remembering those nights where his dad got home late and that was all they had in the freezer. How Hughie pretended to love it. “So many pizza rolls. Like sometimes to the point I feel sick just thinking about them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a wrinkle between Frenchie’s eyebrows, a frown etched into his face. Hughie stiffened, he didn’t mean to cause that. Before Hughie could apologize and retreat, Frenchie asked, “...how do you not have scurvy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hughie let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “That is a very good question. I’d say coffee, but caffeine doesn’t help with prevention of scurvy as far as I know, so it must just be the fruit I ate that saved me from that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frenchie made an affirmation noise, but didn’t say anything. Hughie picked at the cuffs of his hoodie. “So, uh, where did you learn how to cook?” Frenchie didn’t immediately respond, Hughie felt tension spread through his body, winding him tighter. “You don’t have to answer--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I learned from my mama,” Frenchie said, the knife hitting the cutting board again. Hughie let out a relieved breath, he didn’t overstep. “She taught me as a young child, before my father took me away.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You mentioned your father tried to smother you. I take it he really wasn’t great?” Hughie wanted to smack himself, it was none of his business. “Sorry, I shouldn’t of asked.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frenchie’s eyes were still on him even as he moved another carrot into the warpath of his knife. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wi</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He did try to smother, clearly it did not work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hughie winced. “I’m sorry. That-- that is none of my business.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is your relationship with your father?” Frenchie asked, now turning to dump the carrots into the pot behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Letting out a heavy sigh, Hughie rolled the question over in his head. That was a complicated topic. “That one is hard to answer.” Hughie paused, thinking through his answer. “I know that he loves me and I love him, but I suppose that I just don’t feel I can trust him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frenchie raised an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, uh… it’s just kind of he claimed and promised certain things and never followed through. Wasn’t really there to support me in things. I only ever really did more then the bare minimum of things because of my best friends, otherwise I would’ve talked myself of trying out the extracurricular classes. Like the programming class or drama class. I definitely wouldn’t have gone on any school trips without them. Wouldn’t have ever gotten on a stage. I would’ve just stayed firmly in my line in middle and high school, never branching out.” Hughie snapped his mouth shut, Frenchie didn’t need to hear his shit. Hughie swallowed, wanting to smack himself again, and he shook his head, adding, “Fuck. I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear my bitching about my life. It’s really not that bad.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do not apologize. We all go through different experiences and events, it all affects differently.” Frenchie was now attacking an onion. The words took a weight off of his chest that he had had no idea had rested there for even a brief moment, Hughie gave a small smile. “Do you not have a good relationship with your father? What was this high school like?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. God.” Hughie inhaled deeply. “It was complete and utter fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I am not exaggerating. I wouldn’t have survived it without my best friends. Robin and Anthony were my number supporters and enablers. When I had no one else, I had them. Even when my dad didn’t show up to the play I was in or missed whatever else he claimed he’d be there for, Robin and Anthony were there cheering me on. Dad isn’t great with support, never was, but got worse after Mom left.” Hughie inhaled again, the word ‘survive’ paired with ‘high school’ reminding of something he dearly wished to forget. Because he was literal when he said that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those few moments between shoving the pills in his mouth and trying to chug them down with water. Robin shoving the bathroom door open just as he lifted the cup to his mouth. The change from a carefree to a horrified look. She had made him spit out the pills and throw up any he had gotten down. The subsequent three months he lived with her to graduation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That had been the worst time of his life, he hadn’t thought anything could top that year. Between everything that came to head. Hughie had known he was in a bad mental state before then, but he hadn’t thought he would go for those pills like he did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Robin?” Frenchie’s question broke through the memories, Hughie’s stomach was churning at the images dancing across his vision.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we met when we were like six or seven. We started dating about when we were nineteen.” Just over a year after the bathroom incident. Hughie wished he could take those few moments back and the months of worry with Robin’s watchful eye on him after. But he couldn’t argue that that hadn’t kept him alive. “We just... kinda just starting dating accidentally and Robin had officially asked me out after that. Without her or Anthony I wouldn't be alive today.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So. Fucking. Literal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The knowledge bugged anytime Hughie thought about it. Because the consequences and the worry he caused from that. Because he would’ve been glad if it worked. But more importantly he was glad it didn’t. What a contradiction of things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did Robin die?” Hughie hadn’t noticed until then that Frenchie had moved onto some kind of peppers somewhere along the line, he had been too caught up in the memories.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-Train.” That was the one most gut ripping memories that he would never be rid of. One that topped the look on Robin’s face when she opened that door to see him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Frenchie said. The realization that was the first time he had told Frenchie what his beef with supes hit him. Only Butcher had known. “I know what it is like to lose someone you care about. It is hard. You never forget it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does it get any easier?” Hughie couldn’t help but to ask. “To deal with it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Some days more then others.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hughie closed his eyes. He had figured as much. “Gotcha.” Then, Hughie asked, “What happened to them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Frenchie was stirring his pot now, the aroma was mouthwatering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The person that you care about that you lost?” Hughie clarified. The urge to smack himself again, when the fuck did he get so snoopy. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. Tell me to shut up whenever.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“His name was Jay. He ODed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The answer hit Hughie harder than he expected. He swallowed thickly. He had nearly been a Jay. “How long ago?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frenchie stopped stirring, Hughie could feel a hard stare on him. Opening his eyes, he met the Female’s dark look. He knew it was for upsetting Frenchie. He deserved it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was five years ago.” There was something in Frenchie body language that made Hughie want to comfort him so badly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am sorry. For your loss. For being such a nosey fucking asshole. For all but word vomiting shit you definitely didn’t really want to know about it. Just. I’m sorry.” Hughie let out a slow, heavy sigh. He was supposed to talk to Frenchie for a distraction, not to talk about his shit. There was no way that Frenchie actually fucking wanted to know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The way Frenchie’s eyes were on him made Hughie want to squirm. Frenchie lifted his hand and made a beckoning gesture. Hughie pointed at himself and raised his eyebrows. That resulted in an eye roll and nod. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wi</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you not miss the part where I literally said I am complete fucking shit at cooking?” Hughie asked as he moved closer. “Like I know how to make bacon and eggs without burning them, but that’s about it. I could legit burn water.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frenchie looked amused at Hughie’s comment and offered him a knife. Hughie gave him an incredulous look. Frenchie insisted, “Take it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is a terrible idea,” Hughie stated, still not taking the knife.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You must learn how to cook something at least a little. This is a very simple recipe. You’ll be fine.” Hughie set his thumb and forefinger on the handle. Frenchie shook his head. “Just fucking take the knife and hold it properly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hughie inhaled deeply, regretting this idea already, and curled his hand around the handle. Frenchie nodded with approval, sliding a cutting board in front of Hughie. Setting two stalks of celery in front of him, nodding for Hughie to go ahead. The string bean just stared at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frenchie’s lips twitched, he stepped behind Hughie bringing his arms around him to take ahold of Hughie’s hands. Hughie felt the tension in his body wind tighter, Frenchie’s hands warm over his own. Carefully, Frenchie guided Hughie’s hands to cut the celery.</span>
</p><p>
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